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Show me an adult and I’ll show you a child who forgot the joy of living.

Joy like cowering tonguesWoven around embers cannot be grasped or Directed, snuffed into smoke At the cold touch of disection.So dear child, clear a space – small and personal in this damp world.And against all jeers feed and feed Tenderly, patiently, innocently

So that while outside a howling gail mourns, Inside a hearth burns joyfully in the night.